I stood in the center of a mob of orcs, waiting on the wire of silence that was growing more and more taut with every passing second. A single line, declared in the commanding voice of a seasoned leader, played on loop in my mind.

It is time to condemn… It is time to condemn… It is time to condemn…

I shifted my weight, and watched.

The tall, broad-shouldered figure spoke again, and the natural murmuring of a waiting crowd ceased instantly. There was an almost religious reverence to their attentive focus, an intensity that I could feel filling the atrium. His voice was smooth and even, but I started to realize that the words were a formula. Some sort of ritual. They bounced around strangely in my body, the sound making my bones want to vibrate.

“The People cannot see through their veil of troubles, through the dust of the world. Who will see for the People?”

All attention turned to the female on his right, and when she spoke her voice was raspy. “Reh, the Far Eyes, will See for the People.” She tossed her head, long dreadlocks swaying. Her voice carried over the heads of the crowd, strangely melodic despite its roughness. “The People cannot fight through the mass of foes, through the battles of the world. Who will fight for the People?”

The horn-masked warrior spreading his arms as the crowd looked to him.

“Banku, the Swift Spear, will Fight for the People.” He hit his chest with one fist, pausing a moment longer than the older woman. Then, he cleared his throat. “The People,” he hesitated, then plowed on. “The People cannot love their foes, cannot win the hearts of strangers through the fear of this world. Who will love for the People?”

I turned with the crowd, entranced.

The slim figure of a second female stood opposite the other, older woman. Her mask was diamond-shaped, simple and bare. Her hands were at her sides. Her white-fringed loincloth swayed around lithe legs. “Zeni, the First Cycle, will Love for the People.” Her voice was full of pride as her mask turned back toward the first male in his long mask. “The People cannot see through the dust, fight through the battles, or love their foes in the chaos of this world. Through the chaos, who will lead for the People?”

“Urg, the Stone Fire, will Lead for the People.” The mask barely moved as the voice behind it boomed forth, and there was a pause as the crowd waited. I could feel something electric in the air, the pressure reaching a fever pitch.

Then, as one, the crowd around me stamped their feet.

Thud.

It was the termination, a resounding period.

“My friends…” And the feeling of tension ebbed, slightly, like the moment of heightened awareness had passed. The orc’s voice was still deep and powerful, but it didn’t punch me in the chest like it had a moment before. “The People have called the Juunta, have brought forth the Four. And now, we stand ready to serve. To see, to fight, to love and to lead. These are dark times. You do not need me to tell you. The bogaddah are growing bolder, wilder. The naathul spin their webs and breed in our hunting grounds. And the zumagi press deeper with their patrols. Their most recent attack took our Zeni on her return from the Imzo Rhothu, a fate she only barely escaped.”

I swallowed, and tried to follow along. Luckily, this masked speaker’s words had drawn the attention away from me. At the same time, I had no idea what he was talking about.

“It was only thanks to the actions of an outsider that Zeni was able to break free from the zumagi clutches, and now we bring this outsider before us.”

Oh. I felt the weight of a hundred stares as all eyes turned back to me. Okay... I felt the spinning tumblers in my head, slowly clicking into place. But wait, who is Zeni…? Is that Aleesi’s real name? Is it some sort of title? I hesitated, hoped they didn’t expect me to speak. Then, I remembered I wasn’t supposed to understand anything they were saying, anyway.

The leader continued. “As you all know, outsiders are rare. Outsiders are dangerous. We must weigh this matter carefully before we decide what to do with him.” He turned to the older woman. “What thinks Reh?”

The circular mask turned slowly toward me. I felt as if, despite the twenty or thirty feet that separated us, the female was close enough to touch. She leaned down, like she was examining a bug. I hoped I was the kind of bug you watch for a minute and then allow to fly away, and not the kind that makes you scream and grab the nearest large, heavy, smashing object.

A moment of intense silence.

“I can smell him.”

I blinked. What?

“His soul is bright,” the woman continued, standing straighter again. “I can smell him and with the Sight I can see his glow. He is more than an outsider. He is not of this world. And the presence of his kind is what so riles the bogaddah.”

They can smell you. Magnuus’s voice resonated in my mind as I wrestled with what the woman was saying. They can smell you, the outsider… And it drives them mad with hunger. I swallowed again. It hurt. My throat was scratchy. Around me, a buzzing murmur was rising in the crowd.

Like another type of bug. A bee. A lot of them. When they get angry. I needed to come up with a plan. But what? How?

Assets… I tried to think, but all I could come up with was the ring on my finger. One spear against this mob? Yeah right.

“Then we give him to the creatures!” I turned to identify the voice that cut through the clamor, and saw the younger warrior spreading his feet on his platform and pointing at me with one thick, condemning finger.

What was his name? Banksy? Or something…?

“The People have no need for strangers. Give him to the bogaddah, and we will crush them when they are distracted.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. Nodding heads.

Live bait, I thought. I remembered long, sharp claws and shark teeth. No thank you… What to do? What to do?

“No!” The younger woman, Aleesi or Zeni or whatever her name was, drew the attention of the mob. “The outsider does not know the ways of our world. He is strange, and uncertain, but brave. He aided my escape, even at the risk to his own life. He saved me from the webs of the naathul. Is betrayal and death how Banku rewards his allies?”

Who are you? I wanted to ask the girl. Some sort of religious figure? A priestess?

But the questions would have to wait, because my eyes bounced back like I was following an intense tennis match. Or one of those ping pong games between two incredibly intense Asian competitors.

The warrior growled softly, crossing his arms. “I want only to bring an end the bogaddah, the naathul and the zumagi. That is my purpose. As you know.”

“By sending your Zeni’s rescuer to his demise?”

“I do not see how—”

“That is enough.” The voice of the leader cut through the warrior’s sulking tone. The necks of the crowd swiveled. “Urg has heard your words, and will make his decision.”

“But—”

“Banku will be silent, and will cease wearing on his father’s patience.”

I glanced back, saw the warrior bow his head deferentially. “Yes, Father.”

“Good.” The lead figure seemed to sigh, and then continued. “We must remember that no outsider is the cause of our struggles. The People’s hardships have been growing for some time. What say you, Juunta?”

And so it went.

The four debated things I didn’t understand, the crowd following their back-and-forth with bated breath. I didn’t quite follow, but I began to see a pattern. The masked orc in the front acted as judge and arbitrator. The older woman seemed like some sort of… seer? A medicine woman, perhaps? The younger fighter was evidently a war leader. And Zeni, or Aleesi, played the role of diplomatic advisor.

But why? What was this whole charade with the masks and the pedestals and the strange, ritualistic attitude?

“The Juunta have spoken.” It was Urg, the broad-chested orator, breaking my mind free from my questions. “Now, all here have witnessed, on behalf of the People, the calling of the Juunta and the presence of the Four. What say you? What questions have you? Speak for those you represent.”

A rustling shuffle from the crowd. The usual reaction when a large group is asked to speak for themselves. Then, “Mada Munza has had a dream!”

It was an old voice, but the kind that had only grown deeper and more compelling with age. Like a televangelist or a radio preacher, or an old country singer. The mob parted, and an orc shuffled forward to the edge of the circle that surrounded my stone seat. He had a wiry, sinew build. Sunken temples, sunken cheeks. His face was wrinkled but his skin stretched over impressive, dense muscles. One eye glittered. The other was sliced through at an angle with an old, knotted scar.

He gestured broadly with storytelling hands. “You all know me,” he said. “You know my mate, the wise Mada Munza.” He bowed in the direction of the old woman on her pedestal and then toward the lead figure. “She cannot speak for herself, today. So I would speak on her behalf…”

The masked leader bowed his head. His voice was grave, carrying over the crowd. “Indeed we know you, Shkruk. And your mate’s wisdom is always welcome. As is yours.”

The old orc gave a brief nod in return. “The Swift Spear has good reason to urge us to battle. Our enemies creep closer every day in the dark tunnels. We have all lost someone to the bogaddah, or the naathul, or the zumagi. All of us. The bogaddah are worst, because they are closest, but the People cannot fight the bogaddah. They are too many. There is no point. The bogaddah are the flies that gather on shit. Killing the flies does not make the shit go away.”

There were murmurs, but I couldn’t tell if they were of agreement or condemnation. The warrior figure had crossed his arms again, chin high in a defiant sort of stance.

Shkruk went on. “The shit is down below. Deep in the dark where the bogaddah spawn. And that is where my mate has dreamed a terrible dream. A dream of a great ghur.”

A murmur went through the crowd, the closest members even edging a little away from the old orc. I focused on the word. Dark shadow fire. Cold below ground. Demon. Evil. The sensation that ran down my back was enough to make me flinch and shiver. An icy chill swept down my spine and pins pricked the soles of my feet. I frowned. I still didn’t understand what I was hearing.

“The ghur is deep below, and it is hungry. Bogaddah cannot sustain it with their twisted souls. So it drives them up, up, and up. This is why they have grown bolder. To feed the ghur who drives them to madness. To feed it with the souls of the People.”

I could tell that this old storyteller was bothering the others. They were glancing around, shuffling, like they wanted him to stop. But I couldn’t tell if it was because they didn’t believe him or because they believed him too much.

“We cannot fight a ghur. The bogaddah, more and more, are a thorn in our side that we have endured for too long. The naathul are everywhere. As Urg has said, the zumagi patrols come deeper and deeper. It is time…” he hesitated, then squared his shoulders. “For a Long Walk.”

A collective murmur of uncertainty.

“We must leave. But the Underway that brought us to this place has been closed for generations. And the zumagi fortress guards the way above. We need a shakka who can gather the haavi. And we need a vedik who can lead the People up past the fortress and into the light. That is the dream of Mada Munza and the wisdom of Shkruk, such as it is.”

The words came thick and fast, too many for me to focus on translating one by one. By the time I had unraveled shakka — diplomat, storyteller, leader, peacemaker — the old orc Shkruk had finished. He rested his hands on his hips and stared around with his one good eye. Like he was daring someone to disagree.

The rumblings of uncertainty rose. Then they crystalized.

“A Long Walk? What manner of idea is this?” It was the young warrior, his horned mask shaking side to side vigorously. “The Juunta values your memory, Shkruk, and your stories. But it is best to keep them separated.”

The old man turned, voice irritated. “My mind is sharp as your blade, Swift Spear.” He sniffed, then shook his head. His voice was calmer when he continued. “Just because there has not been a Long Walk in living memory does not mean that they are the stuff of legend.”

The warrior shifted his weight. “You wish us to flee our troubles. Our enemies. Like cowards.”

Shkruk shrugged and bowed his head deferentially. “Brand me a coward, if you wish, Banku. I only offer the Juunta my opinion. On behalf of the People.”

Zeni cut in. “And we accept it gratefully, wise Shkruk.” The young woman’s voice was doubtlessly Aleesi’s, I knew. But something about the mask threw me off. “Your experience has long been a guiding light for the People, and your stories a source of much wisdom.”

The older orc bowed his head again, lower, in the direction of the diamond-masked girl.

“A Long Walk…”

It was the rumbling voice of the stentorian Urg. He exhaled a long, heavy breath. Around me, the crowd waited. “There is much for the Juunta to consider. But for now, we must first deal with the problems in our midst. The outsiders who saved our Zeni but led our enemies to our doorstep.”

I swallowed. That he meant me seemed obvious. I wondered why I’d trusted Aleesi when she brought me here. I could have tried to get away, or something. Right, I argued internally. And how long would you have survived out in the tunnels all on your own, even if you managed to escape?

Okay, so maybe going out on my own wasn’t an option.

“I have thought on what has been said,” Urg continued. “And it seems wrong to deliver the outsider into the jaws of our enemy.” A low grumble from the pedestal behind me. “And yet,” he went on, shooting a masked glance over the heads of the crowd toward his younger comrade, “if Reh speaks truly and his presence draws the bogaddah, it is a foolish risk to the People to allow him to stay.”

Uh-oh…

“The outsider will be released beyond our walls and sent forth on his own. As Father, I have listened. As Leader, I have spoken.”

I blinked. Okay, so maybe going out on my own was my only option. Fuck.

I stood stock still, stunned. I glanced over at Aleesi. The girl was had shifted her weight and her hands were tightly clenched, but she didn’t seem about to say anything. Her mask turned to look toward me in the center of the crowd. I’m sure she saw a confused and helpless face.

“What of the other outsider?” A voice from the crowd startled me enough to turn. “The zumagi?”

There was a rumble of anger.

Are they talking about Magnuus? I thought. He must be here! But where? Maybe if I could find him we could stick together once we were released. Make our way back up to the duergar fortress? I could complete my quest, avoid finding out what happens when you break a sacred oath, and maybe not die.

I couldn’t look at Aleesi. After all I’d risked helping her, she had hung me out to dry. Figures. Sticking with Magnuus seemed about the best plan I had, at the moment.

That was when the huge leader at the front of the atrium spoke again. His voice was harsh and firm. “Him, we kill.”

Or not.